


Inherit the Dream, Not the Earth

by clestiels



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 15x19 rewritten, A TON OF ANGST, Angst with a Happy Ending, Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Cries, Dean Winchester Has PTSD, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Djinnverse (Supernatural), M/M, Mild Dissociation, basically just a lot of pain, castiel enjoys painting i guess, castiel wears an apron, domestic destiel (if you squint), i really really really miss destiel, i wrote this at like 4 in the morning, there were too many plot holes, this is my first released oneshot since 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:20:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28513308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clestiels/pseuds/clestiels
Summary: I genuinely have no idea how to do a summary but basically this is 1519, but Dean runs into one last soul that gives him a chance on talking to Cas after his inevitable ending :) it's pain all the way through. But hey, it ends happy (bittersweet)!
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Jack Kline & Dean Winchester (mentioned), Sam Winchester & Dean Winchester (mentioned)
Kudos: 21





	Inherit the Dream, Not the Earth

  
Cas is dead.

That's all Dean's been able to register since last night. He doesn't remember falling asleep, but he isn't surprised to open his eyes and see over 50 missed calls and at least 100 missed texts from Sam.

But he doesn't care to hear what anyone has to say. Not Sam, not Jack.

Cas is dead.

He looks over at the wall, still discoloured from that- that _bullshit_ Dean had damn near prayed that it was just a dream, begged that it wasn't real- stained in such a way it looks like the wall was burnt. If the circumstances weren't the same Dean would probably make a joke about it - a reference no one would understand, but something that would make him laugh, at least - but all he wants to do is punch it or paint over it or destroy the entire room. It's just there - just mocking him that Cas is dead.

Cas is dead and he didn't even say anything to him when he still could.

His phone rings again, and for some reason he's a little more than disappointed to see that it's Sam again. Sam isn't a word with meaning to Dean. Not right now, at least. The only words that register right now are _Cas is dead._

He's dead and Dean didn't say it back.

He wonders if he should just pass out from exhaustion again as he stares at the pitiful wall that had claimed the angel - his angel - only a few hours ago. It would probably be better, a less painful alternative to just sitting and staring and listening to the agony of his vibrating phone he just couldn't find himself to shut off, because for some reason, hearing that crap is better than sitting in pure silence in the corner of a room that his angel had died in last night.

He settles for crying out the tears he had thought he lost completely last night and hiding his face in his arms once again.  
  
  


It had to of been noon when Dean decides to get up. He struggles; his body completely wiped out from shock. He wants to stay there as much as he wants to leave and his tired brain can't make sense of that. But when Sam calls for the 123rd time since minutes after Cas died (he didn't die. That was a dream, wasn't it? Had to of been), he finally got up and left the room with moderate effort.

He spares a glance at the mocking wall one more time and it took everything not to let his knees give out under him, so he purges on and storms out of the bunker.  
  


Baby doesn't even feel right. Not anymore. His Impala's cold, and it feels uncomfortable, old and worn out. It feels like just a normal car, and Dean nearly cries at that. Nothing could settle him down, not Sam, not the Impala, and certainly not Cas, because Cas is dead.

He drives anyway.

The first thing Dean notices is the silence. There are some cars on the road, some horns wailing in streets far enough for him to ignore, and he senses irony with that. The world, his world, it was gone - dead with Cas.

A thought sparks with Dean's grim sigh. _S_ _hakespeare could never_. He would've laughed at that, but given the circumstances he can't even smile, because it's been hours and he still can't accept the fact that Cas is dead, and there's no one around, and that unsettles Dean. There's nothing to look at outside. His car doesn't slow down to let traffic pass and it doesn't speed up to pass cars that are just too slow for his liking. It's all wrong. But he knew it would been wrong, even if people were still alive.

That thought makes him angry, eventually. He thinks he'd be even more upset if the world was still alive. His angel up and left him, gone for good - again, but for real this time - and the world would just be able to go on with its business? And mock Dean’s caved in world more than the dungeon’s wall? He huffs in a harsh breath of air. Cas is dead.  
  


Dean pulls over, and puts his head on the steering wheel. A headache - probably a bitch of a headache that would become a migraine soon - makes his head spin. He opens the door for some air, but it didn't feel right. It wasn't refreshing air to breathe in, and it certainly doesn't calm his nerves, but then again nothing has been _refreshing_ since Cas died.

Did Cas seriously die? Dean looks around. He checks inside the Impala. Well. Cas isn't there, where else would he be if he wasn't sucked in by that stupid—

The Empty. That's something Dean laughs at. The name— what a wonder. He's not surprised that it's the Empty that took Cas, because all he feels is emptiness, and the excessive irony of this entire dilemma is far too challenging for him to process. His chest was hollow, sunken in and serving no purpose but to remind him that his angel was dead, and he couldn't go on without that bitter black slime haunting him, grabbing him from behind but never quite strong enough to pull him back.

He wishes it was strong enough so that he wouldn't have to breathe in without his angel's grace in the air.

He takes a whack at the Impala's bumper with a shotgun he doesn't remember grabbing from the trunk. It doesn't make him feel any better, but he doesn't exactly _feel_ anything.

Another hit, this time at the side door, and he wishes he stayed in Hell. Because if he stayed in Hell, he wouldn't have met Cas. And if he stayed in Hell, he wouldn't know what it's like to lose someone he loved - _twice, now,_ both times because of his stupidity.

He sends a hard punch at the door, and he doesn't register the blood on his knuckles, and he's wishing - he's praying - for some holy or not miracle that he could speak his heart out to Cas the same way Cas spoke his heart out to Dean.

He drops his shotgun and doesn't try to hold back his tears. No one's around to judge him, anyway.

But Sam. Shit, his brother's probably wondering where he is. Dean wills himself to stop his sobbing (and it feels like hours have passed when he actually manages to stop, because every time he’d try to calm down, there would be guilt and pressure and reminders that Cas is dead and Sam probably is too because you couldn’t get there fast enough, Jack is probably close behind because Hell, you got a goddamn angel to die, and angel that isn’t supposed to love a broken down train wreck of a man like you) and get back in the car. He looks at both his side mirrors to make sure he didn't ruin them during his breakdown, and stutters his gaze back on the driver's side of the mirror.

There's someone staring back, and it's not him.  
  
  


It’s only rage and adrenaline that follows right after. He kicks open the door, grabbing his shotgun from off the ground, and aiming it at the stranger. But he’s quick to register what he’s doing, and it’s all _wrong place wrong time, wrong place wrong time,_ as he guiltily lowers the weapon when the person - a man, a little shorter than Dean and looked to be around the same age - threw his hands in the air. He's scared. Hell, why wouldn't he be. The entire world is gone, and Cas is dead.

He doesn't know that. No one knows what. Focus, Dean.

"Okay," Dean huffs under his breath, "it's okay— it's fine. I'm not gonna shoot you."

The man doesn't seem settled by this, but he lowers his hands. Dean squints at him and takes a step closer, but the man only takes a skittish step back. Dean doesn't have the patience for it, so he steps toward him until the stranger isn't able to back away anymore.

"I'm not gonna shoot you—" he repeats, pinching the bridge of his nose to try and pipe down his very obvious irritation, "What's your name?"

The stranger doesn't reply. He just stares.

A beat of silence.

"You're Dean Winchester."

Shit. Dean rolls his eyes. "Yeah, what about it? You a fan of my work or something?"

The stranger shakes his head. "No, I wouldn't dream of having you even six feet in front of me, like you are, right now." He wants to take another step back, but Dean practically cornered him between two abandoned cars. "I'm not something you'd converse with. At least, not during a, um, normal day."

Dean narrows his eyes, his hand hovering over his gun for a sense of safety. "The Hell is that supposed to mean?"

The stranger frowns. "I'm something you'd hunt. You can't tell?" He blinks, a purple glow illuminating momentarily from his eyes, but they flicker like a weak light bulb too quickly for Dean to feel threatened, and it even takes a moment for him to process the point of that. So it’s a weak, starving Djinn. The hunter scoffs, and the realization hits him. He can't help but feel a little embarrassed.

"So, what're you? The Last Unicorn? God just decided to leave you behind?"

The Djinn looks down. He's ashamed, and Dean doesn't find a single bone in his body that could possibly care. "Gimme one good reason why I shouldn't add you to the list of seven billion casualties." Dean adds on, taking a step forward again.

The Djinn laughs. It's something Dean flinches at, because it takes him too long to register the joy on the man's face. "You were yearning for this, Dean. Praying, even. Don't you understand?"

Dean doesn't understand. There's a beat of silence.

"You lost someone; you want to see them again. I can make you see them again."

Dean gawked at the Djinn. The damn monster is trying to bargain with him - a monster of a hunter that even the Djinn knew just by looking that he was Dean Winchester - but Dean just steps back with a scoff. "Yeah, in exchange for my damn life." He starts walking off. The Djinn isn't a concern. Not anymore. Not when there's no one for him to feed on. Why should Dean care? It's the end of the world, anyway. Their days are up, last monster or not.

But he stops as the man speaks again. "I swear, I won't kill you. You say - you do what you need - and I'll wake you up. Honest. If that’s what you want."

Dean shouldn't be thinking about this. _It's not real, it’s a trap,_ why would he trust a monster? And besides. It wouldn't bring his Cas back. And yet... “Why should I believe you?"

The Djinn nearly laughs again. Dean notices. "Look around you, Dean. There's no point in lying anymore. No one's alive. I've got nothing to lose anymore, and you don't either. I’d just like, one last thing, as do you, right?”

Dean hates that he can't argue with that. He sighs slowly, turns around, and looks at the Djinn. "You won't suck the life out of me?"

He shakes his head. "Swear to you, I won't."

There's another long drag of silence. Dean can't seem to hold contact with the thing he used to kill every damn Thursday. He should be meeting up with Sam, already there, telling them that... Castiel is dead.

Cas is dead. And the Djinn has a point.

"Okay."

He has nothing to lose.

The Djinn took Dean back to his Impala and claimed everything he needed was in the first aid kit Dean had in the trunk. Dean is thinking this is a mistake. He’s thinking he should just kick the Djinn out, but then he remembers this isn’t the first time he put blind faith in a monster, and he remembers Benny. God, Benny. He was right to trust him. And now it was the end of the line again. Dean could just scoff - same song, different (very different and very off key and very bad) verse. He looks at the Djinn, but he can’t hold eye contact so he just closes his eyes.

“This might sting.”

Dean doesn’t know what might sting, and he doesn’t care. It doesn’t sting anyway.  
  
  


Soon enough Dean wakes up back at the bunker. He’s on his bed - it was made, a little messily, but it was still neater than the last time he had been in his room.

At first he thinks everything was just a shitty dream; that everyone was okay and alive and well. That Cas only told him what he wanted to hear because it was his own subconscious. But as he opens the door, spares a confused glance at his room, and walks down the bunker, he registers that he's in a dream right now. The Djinn pulled it off. A deal is a deal.

But Dean still feels guilty that he even decided to do this.

He looks around with a frown and sits down on a step in the hallway, pulling out his phone from his pocket and sighing. There's a missed call from Sam.

He plays it. _Hey, Dean. Eileen and I just wanted to check in. I know we haven't dropped by recently, and well, it's just been really busy. Heard about those vamps you took care of - nice job. Laughed a little when I saw that they disguised themselves like that - you ever see a vampire do that? Eh, I guess not. It probably would've come up. Anyway, Jack says hi. And, well. If the bunker ever gets too lonely... You know we've got a guest bedroom. Hope you're hanging in there. K. Bye, Dean._

Dean doesn't realize he's crying until a tear falls onto his phone. His brother's happy with Eileen. Jack says hi.

But where's Cas?

He scrolls through his contacts and finds his thumb hovering over Cas'. What if it goes straight to voicemail? What if this was just some awful trick played by the Djinn? Was that even possible? It had to of been possible. He made a twisted deal with a Djinn. A monster deal is a monster deal.

His head begins aching from all the agony that he might not even have Cas in his dream world.

"Fuck."

He calls Cas.

He can hear the ring echoing in the bunker. He follows the tone. It’s all muscle memory, because he can’t register the fact he even stood up. He follows the tone that may let him down and just remind him that he can't get Cas back. He follows the tone that may just be Cas’ abandoned phone that Dean still can't seem to turn off because he can't let go. He follows the tone, anxiety rushing in his blood and his heart beating out of his chest as it gets louder and closer and it leads to...

It leads to the dungeon, and Dean feels sick as he opens the door. He does it slowly, terrified that he won't be able to sleep with what's on the other side (as if he could sleep anyway), terrified that the Empty will greet him and pull him into a world where he'd physically see what his mental state looks like.

He should stop opening the door, he should just wake up and give it up, but as soon as he’s about to turn back-  
"Oh, hello Dean. Why are you calling me?" Cas.

Cas asks him that as Dean opens the door to see his angel. His angel standing there, painting the dungeon's walls. Painting over a dark splotch of faded black on the wall that looks all too familiar. His angel is there and he's talking to Dean.

"Cas?"

Cas squints and puts his paintbrush down on the ground, wiping his hands on an apron he's wearing. Cas is wearing an apron and Dean could weep at that. "Dean? Are you alright?"

Dean runs to him. He dives into Cas, embracing him with no intention of letting him go. "You idiot- you're such an idiot-" Is all he can seem to sob- "You just tell me all that— all that shit, and you tell me you— and you just— you can't do that!" He pulls away, holds onto Cas' face, sees the wild confusion and worry, and he just can't find a way to care. Not right now. He got his angel back, and that’s all he’s able to process. "You're such an idiot."

Castiel just blinks. He has a frown on his face now, and Dean only fears the worse - that he fucked it up, even in his dream world, even before he got there.

"You're not... You're not Dean, not here, not now, are you?” Cas puts his hands on Dean's wrists, where his hands are still gripping the angel's face. Dean wants to cry even more than he already is.

"No, Cas. No, I'm not."

"What sent you here?" He asks, and he's calm. He's so calm, and Dean is so out of his mind in love with him, he just wants to kiss him, and cry in his arms, and maybe even punch him for doing that to him— But this couldn’t be his Castiel, because he wasn’t Castiel’s Dean.

He tries to explain, but it just comes out like "You’re dead.”

"You're dead." It's all he can say. Over and over until he's speaking it incoherently, buried in the crook of Cas' neck, holding onto him tightly again and weeping when he feels Cas hug him back.

"I understand.” The angel speaks, and God, Dean flinched at that, "You know I didn't just let go of you, Dean. That day— I never did. It was not my intention to leave you, let you go and do everything on your own. And I'll never let go, not until you let go yourself." Dean doesn't answer, and Cas keeps talking. He can't figure out if the angel's making any sense to him, and all he can do is cry and listen.

"You don't have to fight, Dean. Not anymore. The fight is over, and you won. _We_ won. You can let go now, you’ve got me and I'm here. I’ll never leave.”

"You're not here, you're not really." Dean finds himself murmuring, holding onto his angel even tighter, "you're not mine. Not here. You're gone— you're dead— I'm not your Dean."

Cas hums. "I’m not so sure what you mean. This just seems to work." He doesn't resist Dean's bone crushing hug, but he turns in a way he can see his face again. "I was always yours, Dean. We always found each other, didn't we? And look at you. Finding me again." He's cupping Dean's face, and God help him Dean is blushing, head over heels in love with Castiel, he needs to say it, say it before it's too late again, before the Empty comes back, before—

“You changed me too.” The angel blinks when Dean winces. He begins to smile. Genuinely smile. “I know.”

Dean doesn't know how to reply. How could he? He doesn’t really want to, anyway, so he just holds onto Cas. "I love you." It tugs out of his mouth like a train wreck, his tongue working the words off muscle memory, and he says it again. "I love you."

It's electric when he hears Cas say "I love you too," with no hesitation, no regret. Their love, bright and beaming, was all that Dean needed in the end. It's all he ever dreamed of.

“Please don’t leave me,” Dean whispers, “not again.”

“I’d never dream of it.”

It's only then when Dean gets it— he knows it's okay to let go.

He decides to stay.

**Author's Note:**

> Alright well that wraps up my first released fic since 2017- clearly I'm pretty rusty.
> 
> Thank you to May for hassling me into releasing this in the first place, it probably wouldn't ever see the light of day without you doing that. So. Yeah. Thank you :)


End file.
